


Supernatural Reader FanFiction Collection

by anonniemoose



Series: SPN OneShots [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: BDSM - mild, F/M, Jealousy, SPN - Freeform, Series, Smut, Supernatural - Freeform, mentions of chuck shurley - Freeform, mentions of gordon ramsay, mentions of sebastian roche, torture in one of them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 14:02:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4922311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonniemoose/pseuds/anonniemoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Here are all my fanfictions from Tumblr, all are Character/Reader fictions. Some will contain smut, and warnings will appear at the beginning of each chapter.</p><p>Chapter One: Look-A-Likes and Possessive Angels - Balthazar/Reader, Smut<br/>Chapter Two: Yomu - Bobby/Reader, No Smut<br/>Chapter Three: Harder Than It Looks - Castiel/Reader, No Smut<br/>Chapter Four: Art - Crowley/Reader, Smut<br/>Chapter Five: Guardian Not-So-Angel - Crowley/Reader, No Smut<br/>Chapter Six: Sweet - Gabriel/Reader, Smut</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Look-A-Likes and Possessive Angels - Balthazar/Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this fic: PUNS, LOTS of flirting and smut – mild BDSM, gagging, bondage, petnames, title, accent!kink (on Balthazar’s behalf), collar, blind fold, orgasm denial (until the end).
> 
> Prompt for this fic: When your boyfriend starts getting recognised in a restaurant for a look-a-like chef, and you begin to rave about his food, he slowly becomes more and more frustrated with his choice of restaurant.
> 
> Word Count: 3, 753 words.
> 
> Notes: Okay, I'll be the first to admit, I can't speak French. I've been corrected twice already and I've only just changed it and I still don't know if its right because I was in a hayfever mist when I fixed it....if its still wrong PM me on tumblr (now lightsaber.tumblr.com) or comment below so I can fix it...I may need to talk to you about it so it makes sense but yeah. Don't be scared to correct me because I'm relying on the Googles.

“Are we…are we in Vegas?” Your voice asks in disbelief. Seconds ago you were at Chuck’s house, discussing what had been happening with the boys when suddenly your scenery shifted from the beautiful home where you and your boyfriend’s father were sitting on his well-worn in couch to the stunning view of a restaurant you had heard too much about. 

“Perhaps, _ma Chèrie._ ” Balthazar pulls you close, kissing your temple gently. “I thought you might need a little bit of a…break from the prophet sitting.” 

“That prophet is your father.” You chide gently as you look around in awe. Balthazar sniffs playfully. 

“That is yet to be proven.” You roll your eyes, your grin not leaving your face as he escorts you down the stairs and into your seat, pulling it out like a true gentleman, which you knew only to be partly true. Accepting a menu from the server, you turn to look at your boyfriend. 

“I’m surprised that you haven’t whisked me off to Paris.” You drawl, the French pronunciation of the name rolling off your tongue, smirking as you see him shift in his seat. 

“Well, I thought you might want dinner here than a midnight breakfast.” He seemed to sound insulted. 

“Hey.” You nudge his knee playfully with your toe as he looks up from his menu to briefly make eye contact. “Thank you.” 

“Well you did rave about the place.” His eyes turned down to the menu again. “You’d think they could offer a good wine list…” You roll your eyes as you snatch the wine listing from him. Your eyes bulge out as you lean forward to whisper to him. 

“Balthy, this pricing is by the _glass_.” 

“Yes, and?” 

“Your wine of choice is twenty-eight dollars!!” 

“And?” 

You lean back, pouting as you mumble about his ‘rich, pompy bastardness’ that earns you a slight smirk over the rim of his water glass. 

“I thought we might get some champan-” 

“Nuh uh.” You shut the wine list and put it to once side. “Not for thirty-five bucks a glass we’re not.” 

“Luv, I understand that being a hunter means you’re not used to such-” 

“Balthazar I’d watch what you’re going to say next, otherwise tonight you might be sucking your own c-” 

“Can I get you two anything to start with this evening?” You both smile up at the waiter as stands by your table. 

Both of you take your time to order (champagne is bought, much to your chagrin, as well as B’s wine and your favourite drink on the list) and you are shocked to see Balthazar order food, possibly for the first time during in the entirety of your relationship. You look at him, trying to hide your emotions from your face. 

“I didn’t take you all the way here just so you could eat alone.” You ‘aww’ quietly to yourself before you notice the attention your table was getting from other customers. “What are they staring a- oh.” You look back at your technically-angelic boyfriend. 

“What is it, m’darling?” 

“Well, people are staring.” He shrugs it off, as if he is used to it. To be honest, he probably is. “And this _is_ a Gordon Ramsay restaurant….” 

“And?” You eye him, trying to look for any signs of deceit. 

“Balthazar, my lovely, have you ever _seen_ Chef Ramsay. Picture or otherwise?” 

“No.” 

“You literally have no idea what he looks like.” 

“Of course not.” 

“Have you been living under a fucking rock?” He shrugs. “Remember when I put your head between two slices of bread and called you an idiot sandwich?” He nods. “I was quoting him.” You pull out your phone and quickly pull up a photo. “See?! You look like him!” 

“I look nothing like him.” Balthazar protests. “Next thing you’ll say I look like that Roché guy from Vampire Diaries!” 

“You do though! I mean, you could be his tw-” His feet touching your shin makes you stop automatically. 

“I’m sorry, you were saying?” You glare at him, tempted to poke your tongue out at him. 

“Cheater.” You mumble under your breath as the waiter returns with your starters. 

The food, as you had expected, tasted amazing. Balthazar seemed to be uncomfortable as you begin to moan lowly at the flavours bursting in your mouth. 

“You know,” you grin around your fork as Balthazar prods at his food, almost unentertained by the amazing dish placed in front of him, “if I didn’t know any better, I would think you spent all of you day in front of a mirror with a bottle of wine, planning pranks on me and plotting to kill a certain singer.” 

“And in bed, planning such delightful activities with the love of my life.” He grins over to you, trying to go back to his seductive, charming self. 

“What, with a pack of heavy duty tissues?” You snigger as he pouts, insulted. “Something wrong with your dinner?” 

“No,” he pulls back with a sigh as you move to take a small sample of his chosen starter, again groaning at the amazing taste, “I can just cook better than this Mister Ramsay can.” 

You look up at him, deadpanned as you drawl out your next sentence. “Balthazar, my one, my only, the burning star in my life. You cannot cook.” 

“I can too.” 

“You burn _ice._ ” His cheeks flush red. 

“It was one time-” 

“You’ve destroyed all my pots and pans.” 

“I was distracted!” 

“And you’ve caught my kitchen on fire more than once.” 

“You were bending over!” You cross your arms. “C’mon luv, can we just not discuss this anymore?” 

You nod and turn back to your dinner, which tragically is almost finished. “Just because you look like a multi-Michelin Star chef.” The fork looks like it’s about to bend in his hand as his eyes flash. 

“Y/N.” You still. He rarely says your name, and you know you’re pushing his buttons. 

“Sorry B.” You finish the small remainder of your starters in silence before the plates are cleared away. You clear your throat. “Any new wicked plans to kill that certain lounge singer?” 

The rest of the meal continued without a hitch, him complaining about the god-awful movie and song that has plagued his existence for a fifteen years and his plans to destroy Dion’s career without sinking the _RMS Titanic._ When final plates were collected, and you were offered dessert, Balthazar was quick to jump in with a yes and an order of your favourite pick from the menu before you were even able to decline anything else. 

“Balthy-” 

“Not another word, I know you wanted dessert, it was written all over your face.” He grins proudly as you roll your eyes. His hand reaches out to hold yours, resting them on the table. “I just want you to have an amazing night.” 

“I always do with you.” You trail your foot up his leg before resting them on his lap. “You take care of me.” He seems to stiffen, more out of anger than arousal or irritation. “B, are you o-” 

“Here’s your dessert and bill.” The server places it in the middle of the table. “We’ll take it when you’re done.” You were the first to grab the cheque, but Balthazar was the first to read it, snatching it out of your hands just before you could open to read it. 

“This is my treat.” He keeps the little black folder out of your reach as he offers you a spoon. 

“I’m not eating until I know how much it cost.” You are curious and want to put something towards it. Every time the two of you go out, it’s somewhere fancy and expensive. You want to know the price just once. 

“Don’t make me get up and spoon feed you.” You scoff as he raises a perfect eyebrow. 

“You wouldn’t.” 

“I would.” He passes you a spoon. “You have six seconds, _ma Chère._ ” You take the spoon, almost bitterly as you take a small part of the dessert. 

“Whatever you say, _mon ange_.” You grin as he grows slightly red, shifting to move his hardness away from your foot. “You’re easy to raze up, _mon douce._ ” You groan around the spoonful of dessert, your tastebuds singing in delight. “Can we come here again?” 

“One day, maybe.” He hums, not really paying attention. “How long until you finish babysitting the prophet?” You slowly finish your dessert, rolling your eyes at the distancing of his father, before answering the plan that you and the Winchester brothers had, along with the rotation roster that Sam and yourself had made. 

“So, another two weeks at Chuck’s then I’ll be back at the Bunker.” Your eyes meet briefly as he pouts. “You’re very lucky that Cas came over to take my post tonight.” 

“Cassie still feels bad about the whole stabbing me in the back thing.” 

“And you’re not sour at all.” 

“Now now, luv, soon you’re going to hit your drawl limit for the night.” You place the spoon down carefully. 

“Well then, you’d better find a way to shut me up before I find someone else to do it for me.” You tease, almost seeing his feathers ruffle in irritation. 

Grabbing your hand, you feel the familiar tug in your navel as the room fades around you back into a hotel room that you have frequently visited. Picking you up, Balthazar pushes you up and against the wall as his mouth is pressed down firmly against yours, nibbling on your bottom lip, attempting to gain entrance. 

“The bill?” You mutter almost in a daze as you hear your clothes rip, the shreds thrown on the floor as he rips open your bra and kisses down your neck, teeth grazing lightly as he goes. He rolls his eyes. 

“Seriously?! That’s what you’re thinking of right now?!” He tweaks one nipple and bites just above the other. “Paid for.” He smirks up at you. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” You bite your lip. 

“Sorry sir.” 

“No.” Ah, so he’s in _that_ sort of mood. 

“I’m sorry Master.” His grin is predatory as he stands up to press himself up against you. 

“Good girl.” He hums before moving you to the bed, a small number of your collection laid out next to you. You twitch as he moves to cuff your ankles and wrists to the bedpost, hands trailing along your skin as he does so. The only think you’re in is your panties, and you knew they weren’t going to be in one piece by the end of the night. 

He crawls up over you, legs pressed either side of your hips and hands resting just above your shoulders. “Going to be good for me tonight, m’darling?” 

“Only if you decide to get on with it.” He chuckles. 

“Always a big mouth on you,” he shows you the green ball gag he loves so much, “might have to use this on you.” He pauses for a second. “Colour.” 

“Green.” You respond automatically. He hums before ordering you to open your mouth, sliding in the gag and buckling it as you raise your head for him. 

“Grunt once for green, twice for yellow, three for red.” You nod. “What’s green?” You grunt once. “Yellow?” You continue to show him you know what you’re doing as he smiles, hands trailing up and down your sides. “You’re beautiful, you know that?” You roll your eyes as he leans in to bite your shoulder, sucking deeply, causing you to squirm. He taps the outer side of your thigh lightly. “Don’t move.” He returns to mark your shoulder, you holding back your fidgets and groans. He pulls back, grinning madly. “Stunning.” You roll your eyes before you notice that the world had gone dark. _Blindfolded_ , your brain reminds you, _just blindfolded_. 

There seemed to be a slight hesitancy in the room. “Colour?” His voice doesn’t give anything away and you can’t see if he’s concerned. You grunt once. _Green._

The mattress shifts as Balthazar shifts down your body, leaving small kisses in random spots at random times, fingers drumming up and down your sides until his face level with your panties. You feel him lift them with his teeth and you bit down on the rubber ball. _‘Hoe, don’t you do it.’_ You hear the ripping before you register what he did. His teeth nip at your inner thigh, you shift and hold back a small squeak of shock. “Haven’t even touched you and you’re already so _wet_.” His tongue swiping its way up your lips makes you rock your hips up towards him. You can feel his smirk as he presses his lips to your belly. “Can anyone else do this to you?” You shake your head as he laughs. “Of course not.” 

Hands moving to hold up your hips, he latches onto your clit without warning. You moan and squeal around the rubber gag as he nibbles and sucks at your clit. One of his hands slowly trails to your opening, two of his fingers sliding in with ease. You clamp around them, whimpering as he holds down your rotating hips. Curling his fingers inside of you, you cry out when he hits _that_ spot, your body tensing, ready to cum as he worked you up quickly. Just before you were to cum, he pulls back. You groan, trying to break free of the shackles so you could take back some control. 

“Hush.” You hear him suck his fingers. “You always taste so good.” You try to get from friction, seeking out his thigh that you can feel heat radiating from. “Uh uh, no.” He chides gently. “Only good girls get to cum, and you weren’t very good at dinner, now were you luv?” 

If you could, you would pout. You didn’t think you were **that** bad. You slowly shake your head and stop moving your hips. “Better.” He notes, amusement hinted in his voice. “Something's missing though.” He trails off, and you feel the thick band of leather wraps around your neck, Balthazar quickly tightening the clasp of your collar. “This okay?” You hum and nod as you hear the wrapper crinkling, the cuffs on your feet now either side of you. 

“You ready?” You feel him press gently at your opening and you nod furiously. Slowly, he presses in, stretching you slowly as you moan lowly at the feel. He presses his body up against you as he enters you completely. You whimper as you clench around him, him kissing visible parts of your neck, wrapping your legs around him, trying to pull him closer. He tisks and slowly lowers your knees. “No moving.” He punctuates each word with small rolls of his hips, you mewling with each thrust. 

His hands grip at your hips as he starts slowly withdrawing and pushing back into you. “I almost had to stop our dinner before it had begun, do you know how ravishing you looked?” 

The _‘no you tore it up before I had a chance to look’_ is muffled through the gag, but Balthazar seems to know that you’ve sassed him. A sharp smack can be heard in the room, the inside of your thigh stinging slightly. 

“None of that now.” His pace slowly begins to pick up, along with his grunts and your small noises of pleasure. “I love the gag because it shuts you up.” He mutters, biting down on your earlobe gently, pulling down as you buck up your hips. “But, unfortunately, it hides all those pretty little noises you make for me.” He pulls down the gag until it rests by your collar, his thrusting never ceasing. He grins as the moans and mewls become louder. “That’s it, c’mon luv, just a bit louder.” 

“Please, please, please uncuff my arms?” You beg as you pant, his speed now fast, hard and brutal, hitting all of your spots dead on. “Master, please, I want to touch you.” 

He chuckles darkly. “No, luv, I don’t think you’ve earnt that.” His hands move to hold your hips down, them bruising slightly at the firm grip. “I love how I can make you so needy, I’m the only one who can do this, aren’t I?” You nod before squealing as he pushes in harder. “Now now, you’re a big girl, use your words _ma Chèrie._ ” 

“Only you, only you make me like this. Please, please!” You begin to tense as the heat in your lower belly starts to coil and tighten. Suddenly he stops and you cry out, not happy being denied your orgasm. 

“Shh.” He hushes you, kissing your lips softly. “In time, luvvie, in time.” He waits until your panting slows and the coil unravels before he slowly starts moving again. This time, the coil tightens quicker than before. But just like before, he stops just before you cum. 

“Master, please, you’re driving me crazy.” You whimper after the sixth time. His lips are now sucking at your shoulder, his hands wrapped around your thighs as he slowly pushes them up, stilling in his movements. “Move? Let me cum?” He bites down gently before pulling back. 

“I don’t know.” He thrusts twice, hard. “Do you deserve it?” 

“Please, I’ve been good, please I wanna cum, please!” 

“Please what?” 

“Please Master, please let me cum!” You feel him move suddenly move, giving you a squeak of shock. 

“You feel so bloody good, you know that?” You grunt as he raises your legs until your knees are just above your shoulders. Pain shoots down your spine and legs. 

“Yellow, yellow!” You call out and instantly, the mood changes. Your legs fall either side of you and the blindfold – your scarf – is off as he cups your face. 

“What, what was it?” You raise an eyebrow at his worried face. 

“B, you can’t fold me in half.” 

“I could have tried!” You roll your eyes. 

“Back hurt.” You explain and his face drops. 

“Oh luv, I’m so sorry.” He uncuffs your hands and brings you close, him on folded legs and you straddling him. He moves to remove himself from your body. 

“Hey, did I say stop?” You roll your hips. “You owe me something, Balthy, and I’ll be damned if I don’t get it.” You lift his face to kiss him softly as you start to fuck yourself on him, his hand moving down to play with your clit as you work the both of you to an orgasm. Your hands move to grasp at his arms as you work the two of you to the edge. Finally, you cum with a whisper of his name, tightening around him as he shudders inside of you, his hands moving to undo the gag and the collar, both of which are still hanging by your neck. 

He throws all the toys off the bed before laying you down, disposing of the condom and lying beside you, head in your hair as he rubs your sore muscles, apologising over and over. “I love you B.” You interrupt. “And it’s okay. It was a mistake.” You yawn as you slowly drift off. 

“I know, but I should of noticed beforehand.” 

“It’s okay. Don’t bet yourself up about it.” You mumble before slowly drifting off to sleep, hearing one more sentence of self-doubt before you fall into the abyss of unconsciousness. 

“But, I’m supposed to be the only one who takes care of you.” 

* * *

You wake up to feel fingers drawing light patterns on your shoulders and back, hearing shuffling below you. 

“Are we at Chuck’s?” Your voice is rusty from sleep. Balthazar moves to pull you closer. 

“Yes.” He kisses the top of your head. “You feeling okay?” 

“Sore, confused, but okay.” You open your eyes to look up to him. “Balthazar, why did you keep say that you were the only one to take care of me?” 

“Because I am.” 

“Balthazar.” He sighs. “I can spot jealousy, and you were jealous at the restaurant, you were jealous all through last nights…activities,” he snorts, “and directly after! B. Ramsay and Roché look like you, but they _aren’t_ you, but you’re my boyfriend, and the only one for me. There is no need to be seeing green.” 

“I don’t want to talk about it luv.” 

“Too bad, we’re talking.” You move to straddle him, holding his face between your hands and holding his gaze. “Why are you jealous?” You space the words out evenly, trying to get through to him. But with that, he seems to snap. 

“Because they can do everything to take care of you! They know every human thing to do that you need to survive! They are better than me! You can leave me anytime to find some _human_ who can cook and clean and know what you need on a basic level! I _hurt_ you, because I was stupid enough not to check on you! You’re my soulmate, I should be able to at least _cook_ without burning the fucking kitchen do-” 

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey.” You shush him, pulling him up for a hug. “That’s what this is about? The fact that you can’t cook? And the fact that I am not as flexible as a porn star?” You press your lips to his briefly. “B, hun, I don’t _need_ that. I can do it myself. Sure, there are times when I come home from a hunt that I don’t want to cook, but you can **fly**. I’ve asked you any a time to fly us to a restaurant because I can’t be bothered cooking. And the folding? B, it’s okay, I worded out and we sorted it. We are still figuring out what we can and can’t do. I expect that some mistakes will be made.” He mumbles something about wanting to cook for you himself. You sigh. “Is it really that big of a deal for you?” 

He nods, almost childish. “I want to take care of you.” You sigh. 

“Once this job is over, I’ll give you cooking lessons, okay?” He perks up a little and pulls you in for a kiss, turning you over so he’s now caging you in with his legs and hands, lightly pressing his lips down your collarbone, whispering a ‘thank you’ with each one. “I still don’t fucking fold in half.” 

“I’ll remember for next time, _ma Chèrie._ ” A light dings in your head as you realise you missed something that he said. 

“What do you mean soulmate?!” 

**FRENCH TRANSLATIONS:**

_Mon/Ma Chèrie –_ My darling 

_Mon/Ma Chèr –_ My dear 

_Mon/Ma ange –_ My angel 

_Mon/Ma douce –_ My sweet 


	2. Yomu - Bobby/Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this fic: NIL.
> 
> Prompt: Imagine your husband, Bobby, reading to your children English fairytales in Japanese.
> 
> Notes: The story that Bobby is reading to the children is The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe. The section is from Chapter 14 and in English it is read as: As soon as the Witch had gone Aslan said, “We must move from this place at once, it will be wanted for other purposes. We shall encamp tonight at the Fords of Beruna. The title also means ‘To Read’ in Japanese (is the verb for reading anyway).
> 
> Word Count: 920 words

“C’mon idgits, time for bed.” Your husband ushers the yawning children up into their bedroom as you turn of the television.

“Read them a bedtime story, will ya love?” You ask, standing to walk past him, giving him a chaste kiss. “I need to put Oscar down.” The hunter rolls his eyes as you shift your latest addition to the Singer family in your arms.

“Yeah, yeah.” You smirk at your husband as he grumbles, moving to walk up the stairs. “You’re just using him as an excuse not to be trapped with the little terrors.”

“Oi! Don’t call our children terrors!” You shout after him, sighing as Oscar begins to cry.

“They made Crowley leave in fear!”

“No they didn’t and make sure they are brushing their teeth properly!” You call out, ignoring the affection ‘idgit’ thrown your way as you climb up the stairs and into your bedroom, soothing your six-month child in the process.

It had been a bit stressful, as it had been with your eldest son Crispin and middle daughter Caitlyn (or Katie to her Uncles Dean, Sam and Castiel) during their six month of life. Ever since hearing the tale of the death of Mary Winchester, this month was one of sleep deprivation and protection to make sure that none of your children had to go through what Sam did. Of course, Bobby would tell you that you were being ridiculous (you think he had it figured out after you insisted that Crispin move back into your bedroom for the period between his fifth and seven month, definitely after you insisted it for Katie and Oscar), but would still let it happen to keep you happy. Now, you put an almost asleep Oscar down in his crib.

You were thankful that Oscar was an easily settled child, until your first two which would require hours of cuddling and walking and patting and rocking and cooing until yourself and Bobby almost past out from exhaustion until Bobby figured that, on particularly difficult nights, if he just drove around for ten minutes, they would be out of it until the next morning. But Oscar? A few trips up and down the stairs on a bad night and he was out.

Covering him gently with the blanket given to you by Charlie, you brush his forehead before whispering a quite ‘goodnight’ and returning to the top of the stairs, ready to bid the rest of your children goodnight.

“But Daddy, I don’t wanna go to bed.” Your eldest whines as Bobby pulls the blankets over him. “I wanna stay up and watch _Power Rangers_ with-” he pauses to let out a massive yawn, “-you and Mama.” You smile as Bobby pulls the blankets up over Katie before going to sit in the chair between their two beds.

“You made a promise with your mother, you’re gonna have ta keep it.” He simple states, opening the book you were currently reading to them. “Now shush it so I can read.” Your six and four year olds quickly settle, ready to enjoy the story.

“Ma jiyo ga nigeteikuto sugu ni, Asulan wa, “Watashitachi wa, imasugu, koko wo-”

“Daddy?” Katie peaks her head out of the corner of her blanket as she moves to face Bobby. “What are you saying?”

“I’m reading it to you in Japanese, Cat.” He explains patiently.

“Silly Daddy. We don’t know what you’re saying.” She giggles. Bobby simply smiles.

“That’s because I haven’t taught you to understand it yet, idgit.” Katie laughs at Bobby’s nickname. “Now hush, lemme finish reading.” You smile and leave Bobby to it.

**

()()()()()()()

**

It was twenty minutes later, Bobby comes trudging down, running his hand through his hair as you talk to the boys on the phone.

“No Dean, not six, seven. No, Dea-. Dean, I-. Dean! Put Sam on!” You finally shout through the mouthpiece, mouthing a ‘stupid’ to Bobby, who simply chuckles and opens the fridge to get the two of you beers. “Heya Sammy-Boy!” You greet with a smile. “Tell your idiot of a brother that it is seven stabs, not six. Yes, I’m sure. Shinto priest, yes. Bamboo, yes. Yes I’m certain, how the fuck do you think Bobby and I met, eHarmony?” You snark at him, taking the offered beer from your husband. “What’s her diet? Really, why am I not surprised?” You mouth a ‘virgin males’ to Bobby, writing down the information about a possible next case. “Yeah okay, thanks Sam. I’ll keep a look out for animal attacks in Texas and keep you posted.” With that you hang up, ignoring your husband walking up behind you to hug your tired form tightly.

“You’ve overworked yourself.”

“Speak for yourself! At least I’m young and pretty, you’re old and gangly.” You tease as you feel him fight the urge to stiffen. The age gap between the two of you was always something he didn’t take lightly. “Bobby, hun, I-”

“Daddy?” Katie calls from the bedroom. “Daddy, can you read us some more story please?” You sigh as he walks off.

“Go to bed, YN/N.” He instructs. “I’ll be there in a minute.” You sigh before doing what he asks, knowing that if you stay up any longer, you’d simply pass out on the lumpy couch.

You were almost asleep when you feel Bobby slip in the bed next to you, his arms wrapping lovingly around you before he kisses the side of your neck, whispering gently into your ear.

“I love you, Y/N.”

“Aishiteru mo.”


	3. Harder Than It Looks - Castiel/Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this fic: NIL.
> 
> Prompt: Cas and Reader are expecting and Sam and Dean keep arguing over the baby’s name.
> 
> Word Count: 530 words

“My God.” You snuggle your way into your husband’s arms who holds you on the crappy motel bed next to the two arguing brothers. “Are they at it again?” He smiles and nods gently into your hair, his hands instantly going to your swollen belly, stroking it gently.

“Deanna!”

“Samantha!”

“Deanna!”

“Samantha!”

“Neither!” You call over the top of them. “I am not naming my daughter after either of you.” Cas chuckles at your outburst. “In fact, every suggestion made by you is specifically what she is not going to be called!”

A beat of silence as you slowly relax into Cas’ hold before-

“Sarah!”

“Jessica!”

“Sarah!”

“Jessica!”

“Sarah!”

“Jessica!”

“Sarah!”

“Jessica!”

“No!” You shout once more. “Shut it, the both of you!” You struggle to sit up, your heavily pregnant stomach getting in the way. “Not Deana, not Samantha, not Sarah, not Jessica, not Impala, not Yura and definitely not Dean-Is-Way-Better-Than-Sam-So-Suck-On-It, as I have seen written all over my note book, thank you Fuckwit.” You glare at Dean. “No more name suggestions.” Cas starts to rub your back, knowing that the removal of the knots and kinks will relax you. “We clear Winchesters?” You cross your arms as the boys nod slowly with small smiles. Lying back into Cas’ arms as your stomach grumbles.

“What do you want, beautiful?” Cas murmurs into your ear as you shrug.

“Not to be pregnant.” You grumble. “It sucks.” You groan as your stomach rumbles again. “Burgers, fries and ice-cream-garlic-and-cheese pizza.” You decide and with a disgusted look and a flash, he is gone to get your craved dinner. Silence rings out once again throughout the motel room as Dean and Sam continue to research on their beds before….

“Ellen!”

“Mary!”

“Ellen!”

“Mary!”

“SHUT UP!!”

**()()()()**

Two weeks later, in Bobby’s house (after several grumbles how it was his house, not a hospital), you give birth to a healthy and beautiful baby girl, with Cas holding your hand as a trusted sister of his assisted in the birth of the blue-eyed, Y/H/C coloured locks and a small dusting of freckles across her nose as she yawns massively, her little hand refusing to let go of yours.

“So, Y/N, what’s she gonna be called?” Bobby asks as he looks down at her with a slight smile.

“Yeah, Deanna, Sarah, Mary, Impala, Hannah or not Dean-Is-Way-Better-Than-Sam-So-Suck-On-It?” Dean asks with a smile.

“Samantha, Jessica, Ellen, Anna, Charlie or Yura?” Sam asks with a small glare over to his brother and you sigh as you look up to Cas.

“What do you think?”

“It’s up to you, Y/N.” Cas smiles down at your daughter, the bright blue eyes investigating everything, taking everything in with a careful gaze. You think for a minute before you hear the quiet chanting.

“Michelle.”

“Lucy.”

“Michelle.”

“Lucy.”

“Zip it.” You glare at the two arguing brothers. “Really? I’m not stupid. I am not naming my child after Michael or Lucifer, you dumbwits.” Everyone around you chuckles lightly before you look down at your child once more with a small smile.

“So, what will it be, Y/N?” Dean asks. Your smile widens as you whisper her name for the first time.

“Robyn Marie.”


	4. Art - Crowley/Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings/Tags: Mentions of self-harm and suicide attempts, scars, tattooing over scars, some innuendo from Gabe (otherwise he wouldn’t be Gabe, now would he?), smut, possessive smut, poorly written smut, fatigued writer, possible OOCness.
> 
> Prompt: graemoon and I were talking about tattoos and how I want to get my self-harm scars tattooed over and this idea just kinda sprung between us, amongst others during out talks.
> 
> Word Count: 2, 536 words

You sat there with Crowley, fingers dancing over his vessel’s aged tattoos as his hand draws designs on you hip. The faint sound of _’Doctor Who’_ coming out of your laptop’s speakers kept Crowley occupied and you amused that the centuries-old demon could be so easily sucked in to the amazing Whovian fandom. Though he wouldn’t like to admit it, you’d seen his closet, you could vouch for all the shirts, scarves and trinkets stashed away in there.

He groans before he pulls you in closer, your bare legs tangling with his jean-covered ones as he kisses the crown of your head. You were grateful. You had just been through a serious relapse. You hadn’t eaten, slept, drank, showered. You barely had the strength to leave the bed, and the little strength you did have went to a dangerous habit.

Scratching.

Not many people agreed with you when you told them you self-harmed.

"So…you’re a cutter then?” They would ask.

”No,” came your response, “I scratch until I bleed, then I pick away the scabs.”

"That’s not _real_ self-harm,” came their scoffs, “you’re insulting those who actually _do_ self-harm.”

So, you didn’t tell Crowley about your habit until he knocked on your door three days ago, bags filled with your favourite movies, books, snacks, drinks and new pillows and blankets and he hasn’t left your company since.

Healing your injuries was easy, but a demon can only heal so much. Crowley refused for Castiel or Gabriel to heal you so you had no scars, and every time you look down at your short-clad thighs, you knew what laid behind them. Hideous, ugly, disgusting looking scars that remind you of how weak you are. Crowley says they are beautiful, but you have denied him sex every day for the past three days. How could anyone see them as beautiful, as you being strong? They aren’t works of art, you are definitely no Mona Lisa. But you could at least become a rough draft.

"Babe." You begin.

"Yes luv?"

"I think I might get another tattoo.”

"Another one? You’ve already got six on your blasted thigh.” Came his retort as he moves his hand to splay against your thigh. Yes, you had six small tattoos on your outer thigh, but you both knew it was for protection, not for decoration. You pull away, face morphing into a Sam-worthy bitch face.

"Says the man with the half-sleeve dragon tattoos.” He raises an eyebrow. “Demon, whatever.” He sighs before tugging you back into his arm, knowing the reason why you wanted more tattoos so badly. After all, you wouldn’t have brought it up unless you really, really wanted it.

"Fine, go ink your body all you want luv.”

**()()()()()**

Day Ten was the day that you decided that you should go out to face the world. Showered and dressed, you shuffle into the kitchen, trying your best not to make any noise to alert the boys.

"And here we have a rare sight, a native Y/N out to venture the first meal of the day, what will her move be?” Came an overly Australian-accented voice. “Don’t look now, we might startle her. However, Y/N’s have really bad eye-sight. So if I slowly walk backwards-" You spin around to slap the safari-uniform clad Gabriel across the back of his head with a damp tea towel, causing the hat to drop from his head.

"Steve Irwin, really?” He sends his trademark grin your way before pulling you into a tight, warm hug.

"You alright now, sugar?” His voice is laced with concern, and you smile into the crook of his neck. How you could ever think that you were not loved was beyond you.

"Yeah.” You pull back and smile up at him. “I’ve been better, but I’m okay.”

"Good.” He holds your hand and starts to shuffle around in an awkward, dancing motion, like teenagers at prom. “Plans for today?”

"Avoid the boys, might go into town to see Karla, but besides that, nothing.” His golden eyes sparkle.

"And where is Karla going to be working?”

"My pu-“

"None of your business.” You smirked as Crowley’s growl rumbles through the room.

"Aw, Crowlers, I just want to know if she was going to get the tramp stamp we had discus-“

"Tramp stamp, YN/N?” You batter your eyelids dramatically.

"Have to get the boys somehow. I thought ‘cock-garage’ over my panty line would be a good-“ Another growl and a chuckle from the demon and angel cause you to sway innocently. “Or…I could get a dragon?”

By the look in your boyfriend’s eye, a dragon was definitely the way to go.

**()()()()()**

Six hours later, you were standing in the living room, jeans on the floor as you show everyone your new tattoos. The dragon design on your left thigh was almost tribal in pattern, and it’s head was reared, ready to blow fire. The right thigh had a large, black raven, wings flared as if it was in mid-flight.

The boy’s reactions?

To put simply, Cas was confused, Dean was intrigued, Crowley was horny, Gabriel was ready to make some form of sexual comment and Sam was as red as a tomato.

"Not, uh, not bad.” Crowley’s approval finally comes with a slight nod. You share a smirk with Gabriel, it wasn’t often you were able to render the King speechless.

"I take it you approve?” You smile over to him.

"Approv-, yes pet, I….approve.” Came his rumble as Dean pretends to gag.

"I fail to understand why you now have a bird and a dragon on you upper leg, Y/N,” came Cas’s confused but delighted confession, “but I like the way it looks.”

"It’s art, Cassidy.” You explain. “It makes the ugly look beautiful.”

"Then why do you have it?” His head is cocked to the side in confusion as you smile. “You have always been beautiful, Y/N.”

Your response is cut from an overenthusiastic Dean. “Cool!” His reaction is almost child-like, if it wasn’t for the fact that he kept murmuring to Sam that he wanted to like the ink, making Sam blush harder. “It’s head is going straight for your-“

"Squirrel.” Crowley warns.

"My stomach, yes.” You reply deadpanned. “It feels a little cold, and it needs some heating.”

Everyone turns to Sam for his comments, Crowley’s gaze warning enough. “Um…it’s very…nice?” He winces. “I’ve gotta go….do some…..research.” He waves everyone off as he hurries out of the room.

"Aww. I made Moose embarrassed.” You coo, smiling wickedly. Gabe winks as you prepare for the worst.

"Well, at least I’ll have something to look at whilst I’m down there!” Gabe throws an arm over you to pull you in close.

"Don’t you dare, or I’ll rip all six of your wings off.” The threat wasn’t a joke, unlike all of Crowley’s other warnings, which contained no bodily harm.

You look at Crowley surprised as Gabriel takes up the challenge. “And what if she wants me down there, hm? I’ve been told I’m quite talented with my tongue.” He inserts a fresh lollipop, waggling his eyebrows at you whilst doing so. Crowley growls and you feel your stomach drop slightly.

"I’m quite skilled also.” Dean slides over to throw his arm around you too. Your shoulders feel heavy with the combined weight of the hunter and angel.

"Self-proclaimed, or is there actual evidence?” You sass as he winks at you.

"Well, baby, here is your chance to find out.” The room fades as you are moved from the Bunker to Crowley’s bedroom. He presses you against the wall, his lips mashing harshly against yours as he worms his tongue into your moist, hot cavern, dancing around it skilfully.

"Mine.” His eyes are red as he allows his possessive side to take over. You nod as you pull him back, deepening the kiss more so as you rock against his hot body, his harden length pressing against your bare thigh.

"Yours.” You agree, allowing him to pull your thighs roughly around his waist, his clothed cock now rubbing firmly against your black boy-short covered clit. You mewl as his grinds become faster and rougher. “B-bed!” You finally manage to shout, your fingers gasping at his clothed back, the heated knot in your belly beginning to expand.

Throwing you on the centre of the red-silk covered mattress, Crowley climbs until he is caging you against it with his body, his lips rushing to meet yours as he rips away your ratty old t-shirt with ease. “I warned them.” He promises as he pulls down your bra straps until your arms are freed. “I warned them not to say anything. That I would be only a word away from hurting every single one of them.” Pulling down your bra cups, his hands move to squeeze and pinch at your breasts; your nubs hardening as he moves down to run his tongue over them gently. He pulls back to breath against them before latching back on. “First the bloody angel.” He pulls back for a second, you try to settle your rapidly-speeding gasps that you didn’t know where happening.

"He didn’t know!” You promised as a hand starts to drift lower until it was splayed across your stomach. “Cas, he-"

His name is kissed from your lips as you squeak at Crowley’s sudden movement. “Do not mention that angel while we are here.” He growls. “He called you beautiful. It is _my_ job to make you feel sexy. So damned sexy.” He moves down to kiss between your breasts, you moan at the sensation of his stubble against your skin as he kisses up to start biting and sucking at your neck, surely making noticeable marks. Then again, that’s probably his goal. “Then that bloody Squirrel and archangel.” The hand on your stomach moves lower before sliding under your shorts and down to brush against your slit. You buck your hips towards him, trying to make him insert at least a digit into your hot, aching core.

"Please, please, please.” You murmur as he continues to mark your body as his own. You feel him smirk as he rips away your shorts, finally leaving you bare before him as he ghosts his lips down your body, resting himself just below your aching, wet heat. Blowing air against it, causing you to squirm, he smirks up at you.

"It’s my job to make you feel beautiful, to make you feel loved.” You nod, just wanting **something** to happen. “I’m the only one who sees these from now on.” He kisses each of your thighs, right on top of your new tattoos and against each scar the tattoo doesn’t cover. “Each mark on your body is stunning.” He promises against on particularly harsh one. “Say it.” He warns as you make a disapproving noise, his eyes flashing dangerously up at yours, even though you found it strangely sexy.

"Every mark on my body is…” You trail off, not ready to complete the sentence. Crowley moves up to kiss your mound, tongue flicking out to seek your clit. He grazes it briefly, but not long or strong enough to provide you with any relief. Once, twice, thrice more, each flick causing you to get wetter and wetter. “…stunning.” You finally finish. He smirks before he latches onto your swollen bundle of nerves, a finger pushing its way into your core and massaging against your sweet spot. Your hands weave through his dark locks as another finger joins the first. The heated coil grows tighter, bigger, hotter, as you quickly approached completion. A stutter of your lover’s name was enough warning for him to remove himself from your desperate body, his lips glistening with your slick. He smirks up at you.

"What do you want, pet?” He caresses your thighs as he makes his offer. “Tongue…or co-"

You pull him up by his shoulders, wrapping your legs around his waist and grinding yourself against his straining cock. “Get it inside me now.” Came your order and you let loose the loudest moan you’ve ever let pass your lips as he instantly removes his clothes and slides into you quickly and firmly. He stops, giving you time to adjust to the sudden intrusion, but you didn’t want that. You wanted to feel fully fucked out.

"I bet Gabriel and Dean could do way better than this.” His lips tighten as you bait him, his hips slowly moving in and out of you. You hold back your gasps as he hits all of your spots dead on. “Sam would be better too. Bigger cock and all that.” His thrusts gain speed as you allow your hips to grind up against his. “And Cas, well, Cas would have had me cumming a long time ag-oo!” You throw back your head as his thrusts turn into desperate pounding, his hands wrapped around your thighs as he pulls them up to your shoulders. You feel a faint buzzing against your clit, but that’s nothing compared to the brutal, but desired, attention your entire centre is receiving. His lips are pressed against yours, teeth roughly biting and pulling at your lips, occasionally clashing against your own pearly whites as you mewl and scream whenever he hits your best spot hard.

"You. Are. Mine.” Came his growl. “Only I can make you feel like this, only I can call you beautiful, only I can make you cum like the way you’re going to cum.” You whimper as you feel your orgasm approaching. Your muscles quiver as your walls start to tighten around him. “Mine, my Y/N, my little YN/N, my pet, my luv, my poppet.” Came his nonsense ramblings before finally a small ‘cum’ can be heard. You scream as you allow yourself to get lost in the sudden wave after wave of complete euphoria, your walls clamping down hard against Crowley’s still-pounding cock until he growls and bites down hard on your shoulder, warmth filling you as he allows himself completion.

Rolling off you and pulling you in close, he kisses your glistening forehead as he wraps his arms around you. “I didn’t hurt you luv, I didn’t take it too far?”

You smile. “It’s exactly what I wanted, thank you babe.” You move to kiss his lips softly. “You are mind as I am yours. The boys were only doing it to get a rouse out of you.”

"I know, pet, I know, but-“

"But nothing. _You_ helped me from self-harm, _you_ spent over a week with me wallowing in self-pity, watching the same movies and tv shows over and over again, making sure I was fine, _you_ came and held my hand as I allowed my best friend to ink over my scars.” You rub your foreheads together. “Why would I give you up for any of them?”

He grins before claiming your lips in a much more gentle, more chaste kiss. “I love you, Y/N. You are much more than just a piece of art, you are a masterpiece. Always have been, always will be.” You smile as you feel yourself slowly drop off into a state of bliss and drowsiness.

"Thanks hun, for understanding.”

"Any time, pet.”


	5. Guardian Not-So-Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings/Tags: Just some cute caring!Crowley fluff and OOCness. Oh, hang on, torture in some detail, language. The first and last sentence of the descriptive torture will be bolded in case you want to skip it.
> 
> Word Count: 1, 431 words
> 
> Prompt: Imagine Crowley offering to be your Guardian Demon

Being a hunter wasn’t an easy thing. It’s easy to make enemies in this line of work, there as nowhere safe for you to set up camp for a few days, six at most. It didn’t help that you know had every demon, angel and hunter after your arse thanks to your hunting knowledge and knowledge of where the Winchesters were at any point in time. So, you were constantly on the move, strictly sticking to exorcizing demons and simple hunts, contacting Sam and Dean with anything that was too big to do in under a week, occasionally dropping in to see Bobby to make sure he knew you were alive, reminding him that you rarely made mistakes. 

The key word being rarely. 

You still made mistakes, took risks. Spending a month in your hometown to visit friends and family, staying for your newly arrived cousin’s christening left you to make sloppy mistakes. Staying in the same motel for longer than your usual three to six days, letting a crossroads demon get free because you saw someone you knew and you didn’t want them to ~~think~~ find out that you were a murderer, calling Bobby on an unsecure line, and did you mention you let a crossroads demon run free? Which leads you to where you are now, tied to a chair with your Y/H/C coloured locks by your feet, three demons taking turns to burn, cut, brand, rip nails out of you and break several bones, stopping only to ask you the same question. _Where are the Winchesters?_

You would spit at their feet; originally clear liquid quickly turned into a murky red colour as the coppery taste of blood assault your tastebuds. This seemed just to entertain them and to encourage them to continue. Now, they seem to be getting some form of funnel ready, along with a scalpel. The funnel you recognised for water torture, but the scalpel? Besides creating more cuts in your flesh, you couldn’t think of another possible reason for them having it. The woman struts forward, her two male companions waiting by the crates in the corner of the warehouse. 

**“Oh, YN/N!” The female demon taunts. “Stay with us, YN/N, we don’t want to lose you yet.”** She runs the scalpel blade against your skin, splitting it in several different places. “Where are the Winchesters?” 

“’uck oo.” Was all you could say around a painfully sore mouth after being sewn together, ripped apart, sewn together once more and the right half of the stitches ripped out, leaving your left side a terrible mess. The blade makes it’s way to the webbing of your fingers, slicing it neatly. 

“Where are the Winchesters?” 

“’o ‘uck ‘ock.” Your words are difficult to form, but the message is clear as the she-demon smirks at your weak retort. 

“Oh honey, I already have.” You roll your eyes. 

_‘Bloody demons.’_

“Well then, sixteen hours of this and you still haven’t given up.” She sighs, running the blade now across your fingers. “Let’s see how well you hunt when I remove some of these, hmm?” **You try not to panic as the blade starts to cut deeper-**

“And what is going on here?” A familiar voice rings out through the warehouse, the cocky, British demon standing in between two dead male demons. 

“Sir, I-” The female stutters. “She knows the location of the Winchesters sir.” 

“I know she knows where the Winchesters are.” It is apparent that his fuse is quickly burning out. “But that doesn’t mean you torture her, especially without direct orders!” 

“But sir-”

“No! You listen to me, you skanky little whore, you had direct instructions to stay away from her and you disobeyed and nearly killed her!” 

“She’s just human!” 

“No. She is a very important human. And she is under my protection.” His voice growls before whistling. “Sic her Juliet.” There is a growl, a scream and the sound of flesh being torn apart as the King of Hell makes his way over to your bloody, broken and bruised body, his fingertips brushing over your forehead. 

“I am so sorry that they did this to you pet.” His voice is uncharacteristically kind as you slowly start to drowse off. “Go to sleep, luv. You’ll be better when you wake up.” 

**()()()()()**

You struggle to sit up, blinking a few times before your vision is clear. You groan as you see the man clad in his usual black suit sitting at the foot of the bed, his usual tumbler of Craig clasped lightly in his hand. “Hello darling.” He greets as you shift, moaning in pain as the ache grows from dull to excruciating, as if your major wounds have healed into almost nothing but the lack of movement has seemed to make the pain worse. “You’ve been asleep for the better part of six weeks. Well, I say asleep, more like comatose.” 

“Make it quick then.” You say after a moment’s silence, eyes closed as you sink further into the amazing feeling sheets, silk maybe? 

“Who said I was going to kill you?” You scoff at his question. 

“Yeah, the King of Hell brought me here just to have a chat.” You snark, your muscles screaming in protest as you try to move. 

“I just saved your life, you ungrateful little chit.” You roll your eyes. 

“I had it under control.” 

“I did not save you from those pathetic little black eyed bastards simply just to kill you, Y/N.” He states after a beat of silence, him trying to pull his already shortened temper back. 

“I’m not spilling the beans on Sam or Dean either.” 

“Moose and Squirrel?” He smirks. “I don’t need you for information either, dove.” 

“Don’t call me that.” Is all you can retort with as you lock your Y/E/C eyes into his, trying your best not to swallow as his irises flash a crimson red from what you gather as from amusement, either that or he is trying to frighten you. “So, why do you want me then Crowlers?” His eyes narrow at the nickname but continuing nether the less. 

“I’ve been watching over you for sometime, Y/N,” he starts, “giving you information, protecting you. And I think it’s high time we make it official.” 

“You make it sound like we’re dating.” 

“I wouldn’t mind that, pet.” You roll your eyes. 

“To make what official?” 

“For me to become your guardian demon, as it were. Think about it, Y/N. You wouldn’t have to move around as often, less demon work, more hunting involved. Saving people, hunting things, the family business.” He waves his hand in your general direction, standing up to move to the bedside, placing the tumbler down on the bedside table. Your breathing quickens involuntarily, whether it was from pain or fear you couldn’t tell. “Am I making you hot and flustered, pet?” You scoff. 

“You wish.” He sits down on the edge of the bed and you scoot yourself further away from him, ignoring screaming muscles and recently healed bones as you move yourself into a sitting position. “I didn’t think demons were very protective over humans.” 

“Ah, yes, well.” He shrugs with a charming grin. “I see you differently.” You look at him closely. 

“If I say yes, I’m not selling my soul or anything, am I?” You ask. “And would we have to seal the deal?” 

“No and yes. It’s simple demon etiquette, nothing is official unless there is at least some lip-lock involved.” You nearly laugh aloud at that sentence. 

“I didn’t think demons had etiquette.” You mumble before thinking this over. Crowley as your guardian ang- _demon_? You would be protected from almost everything, save for, ya know, God. And the Winchester’s wrath if they ever found out. But not having to hide all the time and, yes, you did prefer working with families to save them from spirits and shapeshifters than the simple exorcism. But more than that, it would mean that demons, hellhounds and any other spawn from hell couldn’t touch you ever again. No more torture. No fear of the mutts ripping you to shreds one day, simply for shits and giggles. Making up your mind, you turn to Crowley and nod. “Deal.” 

He smirks before pulling you in for a gentle kiss as you force yourself to keep your breathing normal because, bloody hell, he’s a good kisser. After a few seconds, but what feels like an eternity, he pulls back with a smile. “What makes you think we can get away with this?” 

“Because I’m the bloody King of Hell, luv.” 


	6. Sweet - Gabriel/Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings/Tags: Smut, some self consciousness.
> 
> Word Count: 747 words
> 
> Prompt: Imagine Gabriel calling you “the sweetest thing he’s ever had” during oral sex.

Gabriel.....Gabriel was a challenge. You went into your relationship knowing this and all the hard work has been so worth it.

He found out that you struggled to be quiet and it soon became his kink to get you so high that you didn't quite realise how high your _volume_ was.

And today was no different.

Gabe had an apparent oral fixation and loved to go down on you. He knew that is was hard on you, you spent a good hour trying to explain why you didn't like him being face to face with that particular area of your body. Then he took a good two hours showing you how much he loved that area of your body.

So it was a treat for him and he would accept it wholeheartedly.

That leads to know. Your legs slung over his shoulders, his head buried deep within your thighs, your hand buried in his soft hair as you try (and fail, much to Gabriel's pleasure) to mute your moans and groans, not knowing when your brothers were returning home.

His tongue swirls and flicks at your clit between hard, steady sucks as he slides his fingers in you, slowly stroking that sweet spot deep inside of you. His other hand is spread over your tummy, trying to keep your bucking and squirming to a minimum.

"Ga-ah." You attempt to glare at him when he pushes down on your g-spot when you try to get his attention, distracting you momentarily. "Gabe, they're here." His eyes light up when he hears the car pull up, his movements not changing at all. "Gabe, we ca- uh, Gabe- can't when they're here. They'll hear."

He pulls back for barely a second, his lips glistening with your wetness. "Well then YN/N, you'd better be quite." With a quick waggle of his eyebrows, he duck back into your heat, tongue and fingers working into over time, trying to bring you off in the loudest, sexiest way possible.

Quickly, you turn, biting into your pillow, in an attempt to muffle yourself. However, it quickly disappears. You turn, whimpering when you see the hot look in Gabriel's whiskey-gold eyes. _'Now now Y/N, that's cheating.'_ His voice rings through your head as you shudder, groaning loudly for barely a second.

"You're- mmmm Gabe, please!- you're the one wh- Gabe, sto- fuck!- whose cheating!" You barely manage to hiss out as he begins to stretch you, three fingers playing with your core as his mouth and tongue torture your clit. The hot coil in your belly slowly begins to tighten as your breath quickens and your moans and groans become close to shouts and screams. You can feel his smirk as he brings you closer and closer, his hand moving down to grab one of your thighs, pulling you closer when you managed to squirm away from him for barely a second.

You could hear your brothers stepping closer, and you could feel your orgasm approaching. You look down to your boyfriend's amused gaze and you suddenly realise.

He planned this.

"Gabe, Gabe!" You hiss out before slamming your head back and raising your hips, trying to dampen the heat but not escape his tongue. Three minutes. Then they'll be gone. You can do it.

Gabriel, knowing your plan, pulls back to blow gently on your wet heat, waiting for a moment, until you had settled and relaxed, and the steps where right outside your bedroom. Then, he latches back on, sucking and stroking and flickering with more vigor.

Your heels dig into the muscle of his back as you arch up to him, screaming his name as the coil bursts and heats up your entire body. He drinks up your orgasm, lapping every bit of evidence as you attempt to hide your face in your arms, the sound of your brother's disgust at hearing you orgasm.

A victorious smirk plays at Gabriel's lips as he kisses up your thighs, stomach, breasts, neck and then pressing a small kiss to your lips. "No." You glare at him. "Gabriel, that was embarrassing!"

"Awww, sweets." He kisses you once more. "You're the sweetest thing I've ever tasted, you know that?" You smirk, kissing his shoulder blade lightly as her flops down beside you.

"You're still in trouble.

"I wouldn't have it any other way."


End file.
